DadaMama

Here Is Your Happy Thought

Joy

Today was a shitty day. I don't like to use that word, but there it is. I mean, today had its high points but mostly it sucked and so I leave you with this:

Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

--Sylvia Plath

Wrong

It's thirty-three degrees outside. This is all well and good for you northern types, but I pride myself on wearing flip-flops most of the year.

It's going to be eighteen degrees later tonight. WRONG.

I know, cry me a river, right?

Maybe I will.

Houston, We Have A Floater

You know you live in a house with boys when the following scenario occurs:

While enjoying his warm bath, the baby decides it has not only relaxed his mind, but his bowels. To this end, he unleashes The Dreaded Blueberry Poop (Google that phrase, I swear you won't be disappointed) in the warm, soothing water.

The mama squeals and quickly fishes the baby out of the water, thanking Jeebus that the three-year-old got out of the water in time. Because poop water? NOT CLEANSING.

The brothers catch on to what is happening and begin to laugh hysterically. Then they run into the bathroom together to look at the poop floating in the tub. Poop! In the tub! They have never seen or heard of anything funnier in their lives! They begin to discuss the poop with rising, hysterical glee. It's poop! From a butt! OMG!

The father, annoyed by the ridiculous giggling and shouting about POOP! IN THE TUB! puts on his deep man voice and suggests that if the brothers think it's so funny, then maybe they would like to clean it up. WHO THINKS IT'S FUNNY NOW, BOYS? It turns out they both think it's funny! They don't hear the father because they are too distracted by the ringing of poop! In their ears! In the tub! Poop! From a butt! Could this day get any better?!

Eventually, the ruckus dies down. The mama cleans the poop out of the tub and vows to look for a job that pays more. The brothers move on, the father makes himself a stiff drink, and the baby lives to poop another day.

Two Things

1. HOLY CRAP THE BABY IS CRUISING.

2. Last night after I tucked Will in, he called me back into his room.

"Mom," he whispered, "I need to tell you one more thing."

"What?"

"If I farted on a bad guy, that would be hiwarious."

Riiiiiight.

This Passes for A Joke?

Dashing Husband: How was your day?

Gus: Humiliating.

Me: Do you even know what that means?

Gus: It means embarrassing.

Dashing Husband: Your day was embarassing?

Gus: Oh, I was just joking. I had a good day!

He's A Diva

Kindergarten starts on Monday. MONDAY. OhmygodIamthemotherofafiveyearold.

Which is why, this morning, the boys and I braved the mall. Both Gus and Will needed shoes. I figured we'd hit Kids' Footlocker and be done, possibly stopping to enjoy a celebratory pretzel.

Stupid, stupid me.

It just so happens that Gus is a diva. He wants his croissant toasted and his Evian a crisp 72 degrees, dammit. Oh, and he wants the perfect shoes: sporty, comfortable, blue, and preferably as seen advertised during Spongebob on Nickelodeon.

We didn't have any luck until we hit our fourth shoe store. Mind you, this fourth shoe store came on the heels (ha!) of Gus picking out some Skechers that didn't really fit, but failing to pass that little tidbit on to me until AFTER we bought them and walked halfway across the mall. Advice: don't shop with a diva.

Thank God for Stride Rite, and the very patient Australian shoe salesman with the fauxhawk. He suffered through the Diva's insane list of ridiculous demands and then sold us some shoes that glow in the dark, look like they've been dipped in slime, and bear the name "Snot Rockets." The Diva is happy, and I want to kiss that salesman on the lips and take him out for sushi.

At least finding shoes for a picky kindergartner took my mind off poop and potties, right?

I Can Sum It Up In Just a Few Words

1. Pneumonia. Will. AGAIN.

2. Harvesting the Heart, Jodi Picoult.

3. Looking for work.

4. Parent-child interaction therapy, once a week.

5. Baby.

The end.

I Have Come to a Realization

I have this dog, Wolfgang. He's small, furry and cute, but he is not happy in our house. There are too many kids. He's started peeing on the carpet, something he hasn't done since he was a puppy. I think I knew this day was coming, but I was trying to avoid it: the dog has to go. Our home is no longer the best home for him. This breaks my heart, because at one time, Wolfie was my best furry friend, and we went everywhere together. He slept in my bed, which he would walk the perimeter of while I was sleeping. So, I suppose I'll list him on Petfinder.

Jesus, this is hard.

What Passes for Conversation Around Here

Will: Well, I'm tired of picking up.

Me: Well, I'm tired of you making a mess, so we match.

Gus: You mean our shirts?

Remember When I Said I Was Calm? I Lied.

I just found out that I didn't get one of the jobs I applied for. There are several others to hear about still, but it just occurred to me: WHAT IF I DON'T GET A JOB AT ALL??

Who needs this kind of stress? I'm ready to chuck it all and go find work as an editor somewhere.